Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's word. Zilch. Nada. Rien. Nowt. Except that which you don't recognise!

Summary: With no choice but to marry, or forfeit the throne, Eomer chooses a woman whom he has heard to be sensible and practical. He never doubts his choice... until he actually meets her. Little does he know it, Lothíriel has a truly remarkable gift. Can they find love, even within a convenient marriage?

Chapter One: Letters

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but there's a letter arrived for you. It's real fancy paper, too."

"Real fancy paper, Omelia?" her mistress teased gently. "Perhaps I must see to it, then. Would you bring it up to me?" Her voice was pleasant and cultured, and Omelia blushed on hearing the difference in their enunciation. What would her mother say if she was dismissed on her very first day in Prince Imrahil's service? The servant bobbed an uneven curtsy, and hobbled as quickly as she could out of the chamber in her embarrassment.

Lothíriel leant back in her chair, and rubbed her temples with her fingers. These accounts never ceased to appear, it seemed. She needed a rest. It was the work of a moment to fling back her chair and cross to the window. Prince Imrahil's daughter gazed longingly at the view of the sea her vantage point afforded.

Her father had stopped any rambles along the golden sands by herself, and she had not yet found a companion who loved to wander without purpose, simply for the joy it afforded. The other servants always, without fail, enquired in which direction they were headed, and on being offered the cryptic answer 'Nowhere' that she gave, lapsed into disapproving silence.

Her lips moved in the lines of a song of the sea, her voice but a whisper as she recited. "…Can you not see, O Maiden Sea, how much I love your waters? Can you not see, that love for thee, I will give my sons and daughters?" Her eyes caressed the glittering waves, tenderly watching each clear green swell upon the surface.

"A new song, sister?" Lothíriel turned with a smile to see Amrothos lounging in the doorway, his features alight in anticipation.

"Nay, an old one, little brother." He scowled, but came to her, and grown man that he was, caught her willowy form in a crushing hug. She gasped. "Perhaps not so little. Lay off my ribs, you great lump! If it's stories you want, you'll get none from me if my lungs have collapsed!" He backed off immediately, but mock terror shone on his still boy-like face, and she smacked him none too lightly around the head. "I'll have none of your cheek, Amrothos!"

"You just did!" he muttered ruefully, rubbing the skin, which was turning a faint ruddy shade against his tan, but retreated in the face of her gaze, which held a rather martial gleam.

"It is wiser to heed her words, brother. I still remember the cuff she served me when I nearly told Father of the trick we had planned on old Denethor when we visited as children. I must confess, it was worth it to see him searching high and low for a potion to get the crimson out of his beard." Elphir entered the room, his grey eyes teasing.

"He had a beard?" Amrothos was astounded.

"He did," Lothíriel corrected. "But he couldn't find anything to counteract the dye." She grinned impishly, and her eyes sparkled. "Father was most surprised to find that our Uncle had changed his barber from the last time he visited. He commented in that wry way of his that a beardless face suited him better than a beard had. You should have seen Denethor's face!"

"And I also seem to remember that neither of us could sit down for a week once Father guessed the truth," Elphir remarked dryly. Lothíriel scrunched up her nose as though trying to recall, and then her face brightened at the memory. "Why are you looking so happy about it?" her elder brother asked suspiciously. Lothíriel smiled at him.

"Father didn't think it right to tan my backside at the age of eleven. He said it wasn't befitting for a lady to waddle as a result from a sore behind." Elphir shrugged.

"You did waddle."

"That's because my legs hurt from working in the stables." Lothíriel was amused at Elphir's speechless indignation. "Father didn't realise how much I love horses. It was hardly a punishment to spend a whole month helping the grooms." She wrinkled her nose. "Even if I did get a little stiff in the mornings."

Omelia arrived at the door, and Lothíriel thanked the maid, offering a grin still imbued with laughter from taunting Prince Imrahil's eldest son. She glimpsed astonished eyes as the young girl turned from the door, leaving the missive in her mistress's capable hands. A small frown suddenly marred the clear brow as Lothíriel studied the seal, stamped with the royal insignia of the House of Rohan.

She passed Elphir and relieved him ineptly of a thin dagger at his waist, ignoring his cry of annoyance and using it to slit open the letter without damaging the red mark. The creamy parchment folded open with a satisfying rigidity, and her brothers watched her face go from surprise, to consternation, to complete and utter shock.

The scribe, Damún, writes this on behalf of his Esteemed Majesty, King Eomer, ruler of Rohan and Commander of the Noble Rohirrim to the Lady Lothíriel, daughter of his Royal Highness Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth,

Our Greetings,

Lothíriel saw nothing more, other than the disturbing words 'marriage', 'alliance', and 'proposal.' She suddenly realised that the world was spinning, and promptly sat down, amid the curious questions from her siblings as to what the missive contained. She held it out. It wasn't as if she was going to conceal it from them. They could hear the faint rumble of the waves by the cliff as their eyes skimmed over the pages, their faces going through the same transition that their sister's had.

It was Amrothos who began.

"You can't!" he blurted, looking horrified. "You don't even know the man!"

Elphir's stern reproving gaze made the young man subside into low mutters, concerning how unfair life in general was. His expostulations made Lothíriel laugh suddenly.

"Amrothos, you cannot fault his proposal. It was presented very well, if a little stiffly, and you must admit that if he has approached Father about it there isn't much choice anyway."

Amrothos looked thunderous. Elphir frowned thoughtfully.

"You will speak with Father about it?" It was a statement, not a question. They all knew that as soon as they finished the evening meal she would go directly to Imrahil's study, though if the Prince of Dol Amroth's mind was made up, even his silver-tongued daughter would not sway him.

"Yes." There was another knock at the study door. She looked outside. "Evening already," she said mildly. "That's Rosie, I expect, wanting me to dress for the evening meal." Lothíriel suddenly grinned, her face lighting up. "Wake up, you idiots! You look like you're to attend a funeral, rather than an informal meal with just the four of us for once."

"Maybe it is," Amrothos muttered. His older sister assumed a mock-upset face.

"Yes, we are horrible company, aren't we, love?" He was shocked into a small smile as she crossed to the door, and after giving them one last smile, left with the maid. Elphir stretched, stood up, and then pulled his younger brother to his feet.

"We may as well go and get ready as well, 'Ro, you idiot."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child!" Amrothos snorted, though his lips twitched. "I'm nearly eighteen, I'll have you know!"

His brother gave him a measured gaze, and raised an elegant eyebrow.

"Ah."

Amrothos turned away, trying to keep his countenance. "You look ancient when you do that."

"I'm only twenty-six, I'll have you know," his brother dead-panned. Amrothos glared. Elphir smiled, picked up his dagger, and went to the door.

"Coming?"

The meal was served with punctuality, and for once, the three youngest members of Imrahil's family were seated at the table on time. However, two were too occupied with their thoughts to notice the main dishes coming in, and arranged on the large table. Lothíriel barely tasted the tender flesh of the fish, seasoned expertly with herbs and dribbled with a pleasant-tasting sauce. She chewed mechanically rather than gracefully, and missed her father's addresses to her until he said her name for a second time.

"Lothíriel!" She was startled into looking up, her brown eyes wide.

"Yes, father?"

He relaxed. "Did you receive a missive today, daughter?" His voice was kind and deep, as always. She tried her best to smile.

"I did."

"Will you come to my study after we have finished here?"

"I was hoping to discuss the matter with you, so thank you, I will."

Unfortunately for the curious servants who attended them, the matter was dropped, and the subject turned to brighter things. The small family laughed and joked as they sipped the dry, delicate wine so favoured by the people of Dol Amroth - probably because a stronger-tasting wine would have swallowed the taste of fish, their main dish - and continued to talk while their dishes were taken away, and the dessert was placed on the polished wood.

When they had finished, they rose, each excusing themselves from the table. Lothíriel, with the taste of fruit still lingering on her tongue, carelessly possessed Imrahil's arm. They walked slowly to his study. When they reached the large room, some of Lothíriel's doubts calmed a little. The setting sun filtered through the window, bathing the furniture and their faces in orange-gold light. She crossed with a sigh to the small couch by the windowsill, and sat with her legs bent beneath her.

"King Eomer of Rohan wrote a letter to me a few weeks ago," he stated, seating himself in the large comfortable chair behind his desk. He remained quiet after that announcement, surveying his daughter's face. At twenty-one, she was considered old not to have married yet. It wasn't desperate for her to bind with another, but to refuse an eligible connection now could be detrimental in the future. He waited for her quiet acknowledgement before continuing.

"Did he make you aware of why he intends to marry? - not his reasons for choosing you, as I do not know the answer to that - but the law that has compelled him to ask for your hand?"

Lothíriel frowned, extracting the letter from her sleeve. "He mentioned a 'delicate political situation', father, but I'm afraid that it was so vague I think he believed me to lack sense." She rolled her eyes. Imrahil appreciated the gesture and chuckled.

"No one could think that if they truly knew you, daughter," he commented wryly. The pair of young brown eyes before him studied his lined face: the grey eyes which both his sons had inherited, and the stubborn chin and firm jaw line which were present in his young daughter, albeit a little more femininely.

"Hmph," she muttered. "Will you translate his cryptic utterances for me?"

"Gladly." Imrahil paused for a moment, and then began. "Are you aware of the fragility of Rohan now that the war for the ring of power is over?"

Her eyebrow rose. "I had imagined that there could be some instability due to many soldiers not returning, but there was no hint of rebellion, if that is what you suggest."

"There is not, at present. However, before his cowardly flight from the Rohirric stronghold, a man they call Grima Wurmtongue disputed with the King his nephew's claim to the throne should he not marry before his twenty-sixth birthday. Such was his hatred for Eomer that he reinstated a law which has not been brought to light for centuries. This was while the former King of Rohan was in the grip of the wizard named Saruman," he added, knowing his daughter's love for circumstantial facts. He took a breath, and continued.

"Rohan cannot truly accept Eomer's rather valid claim to the throne while this law has not been dealt with. And with his twenty-sixth birthday rapidly approaching, the King must marry, or forfeit the throne." Lothíriel blinked.

"So that is why he will not court me?"

"You didn't expect him to court you, did you?"

Lothíriel sent him a wry smile. "Thank you for your confidence in me, father. It is most supportive."

"You know what I mean."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. It is not likely that I will receive another offer as prestigious as this, I suppose. And I am supposed to marry fairly well." She fidgeted with the letter that lay in her hands. "Do I have a choice?"

"You will always have a choice, daughter."

"But you would be disappointed if I did not accept his proposal."

"Yes," her father said honestly. "But it is still your decision, Lothíriel. Do not make it lightly."

Lothíriel was not sure which scenario she now pictured was less uninviting. Marrying a complete stranger and living away from her home until she died - or commanding less and less respect as she remained at Dol Amroth, unmarried and a burden...

"I will need to think on it."

"That is to be expected. I have invited Eomer to stay at Dol Amroth for a while. He will be arriving next week."

She nodded, crossed over to him and kissed his wrinkled forehead, and left the room. She would not have to face her prospective husband for a while - and she would have a week to smooth Amrothos' sure-to-be-ruffled feathers once he heard of the coming visit from royalty.

Lothíriel rolled her eyes. What generosity from fate, to be sure.

I really appreciate it when readers take the time to write down their thoughts - even if it's only a sentence! Ta muchly,

Rue McCann, originally penned as Colour Me Stunned